Some Things Don't Change
Other things are ephemeral. It's disappeared suddenly, that spark in your eyes. And I wouldn't have noticed it if someone else hadn't pointed it out to me. Suddenly all your actions of the previous weeks, at the time bewildering and annoying, take on the tinge of desperation for someone to notice. I'm sure someone noticed. But for some reason I'm sorry that I did not.
To be sure you did not actually need me, and you are in safe hands even now. And you know better than I do what happens now. Some of what happened must be familiar to you. But you hid and you drew, while you told me that you don't write anymore because you don't know where it all starts. And in hindsight I would have like to help, but I did not notice. I pretended that it didn't happen, because it was the simple thing to do. And now we have all tacitly agreed to pretend that it never happened, because it is the least painful thing to do.
You people know better than I do. All I feel is regret that what my doubtful self had cautioned me against had actually happened to you. It's just spooky, I guess, that I was right about a hypothetical me that I saw in you. But you know better than I do, and I didn't notice. I'm sorry that my not knowing extended beyond a pretense.
(Oh, and you probably don't know who I'm talking about, so don't jump to any conclusions, just in case...)
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Hehheh, our performance on Friday night was real fun =P We didn't watch Dramafeste in the end because we were busy praccing. Half the rehearsal was held in 13A's classroom. The other half was held in the lift, due to someone's idiosyncratic impulse =) So there we were, three singers, two guitarists, a flotist and a violinist in the swelteringly stuffy metal box (which turns out to have excellent acoustics), when suddenly the doors hummed open and who should step into the lift than poor Mr. Booth. Hehheh, that was like the high point of the night =D If for some unlikely reason I forget Dramafeste, I will certainly remember the lift.
You spend five minutes in that lift, and you'll understand why the atmosphere thickens to madness =P
Anyhoos, I'm beginning to learn that the real point of the whole Cult thing is the rehearsals. Conan and Joel having so much fun whacking at the guitars that it should be illegal, JY and Conan sparring with their distinctive flavour of wit, Huixian probably wondering if we are really for real, and me providing the backup guitar part, trying to be unobtrusive lest I disturb the shimmering surface of this reveling. Of course, performing was fun too, but the best part is the camaraderie of the Cult. Mmm...united around vegetables. That's the way to go. And having everyone in 13A's room was kind of fitting. 13A probably matches the personality of the Cult better than any other class. But still, with everyone chorusing, the guitars twanging, the violin crying and the flute whistling, it is clear to see that the Cult would have been out of place in RJ. Things like these just don't occur spontaneously within our white walls.
Well, I guess the audience liked our performance. Hehheh, the rotten banana was a good idea as a visual aid for the first song, and Choon's lobbing oranges in graceful arcs over us as we played the last song was a stroke of theatrical genius =D Afterwards one of the teachers was asking us if we were actually a real band; I guess it's quite unbelievable that so much musical talent (this writer notwithstanding) would actually play such slapstick songs. But therein lies our appeal - the high quality music of credible standing, up to the point when the wrong word is delivered at the right time =P
Oh well, it was cool to add our little bit to the Dramafeste, which I didn't watch, so I don't know how justified awarding the trophy to Engine was. But at the end of the day, what the performer is after is not some silly little prize but the approval of the audience. I guess we did get approval...they asked for an encore, and we impromptu-ed our way through the Tofu song! Mmm...that should be like the teaser song for advertisements of our gigs =P And that's enough, to hear the incredulous laughs of the audience, to remind them what we must look like to the outside world, this little upstart toddler of an island...
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More and more writing...being in the presence of the literary greats during our Coffee-Club sessions does things to my creative juices, I guess. If Purvis gives me the passion to read, these people reinforce my passion to write. Let's face it; the bravado to write can only come if you face the greats of English Lit with a certain measure of skepticism, or even disdain. Otherwise you'll be paralysed with awe.
Just finished the Ihist essay on the international economy, which is like the most boring topic we've covered yet. There's so little information around that the library books I borrowed only offer paragraphs of information, rather than chapters worth of quotable stuff. And finished another piece on writing, about my growth as a writer. I'm trying to decide whether it'll be too self-depreciating or ironically too egotistic to post this up. I can't master the angsty teenage tone, really. But the first-person tone I usually fall into is more or less self-righteous. Must be the bad influence of writing in this blog.
At any rate, I shall spend this week reading Enduring Love by McEwan. It doesn't start as promisingly as Atonement, but given his evident genius, I'll wait till I've read more before saying anything more.
Scholarship Talk
It's all about the future now, isn't it? Time to think about what you want to do with your life. The trouble with being a thinker, leader and pioneer is that you aren't allowed the luxury of being indecisive and floating through life. After today's PSC talk I have a clearer idea of what I want to do, but still there are so many caveats. I wonder what it'll take for me to decide, what kind of insight I need to have.
Well...basically I'm more or less set on going to Europe or thereabouts...which means either France or UK. And I want to do something literature- or history-related. If not the hard academic subjects then perhaps journalism or international relations. And the thing is that PSC offers a really good deal if you go to university in a non-English speaking country. So if I do go to Paris I, then I'll have one less year of bond, one year of linguistic immersion and all the usual perks of a PSC scholarship. But then of course, one wonders whether doing English Lit in France is really that good an idea. And what would the quality be like of the courses that are delivered in English in France?
I guess I'll be content with going to someplace in Europe. Going to France may be an intriguing prospect, but practically speaking I don't know about the quality of the courses they'll offer. And already I'm taking a big risk by not doing Economics, which is by far the most popular Humanities subject of the PSC applicants. Anyway, with the wonders of modern technology, most of Europe is accessible from anywhere by train. The one year discount of the bond is of course attractive, but that is only one in a myriad of factors.
Dad pointed out an important thing just now...that I was more considering where I want to study than what I want to study. The ultimate aim, of course, is to get some sort of marketable qualification, for pragmatic reasons. But then university's always seemed like this opportunity to go on a very long immersion programme. I really want to go abroad, and to someplace European, where the history and culture lies thickly encrusted on every sidewalk and footpath. When I think of university, I think of winding country lanes and Bohemian walks with poetry under arms, rather than classrooms and papers and professors. Looks like I'll be in for quite a shock if I keep going like this...but then that raises the question: what is the main objective of university, to get a degree or to get an experience?
Then there is the issue of the bond. I'm pretty set on the ideal things that I want to do in life: to write and to travel. PSC can offer that to me, and after that, during the bond, this doesn't have to end. We cornered an MFA person, and the prospect of being assigned to different countries to work at their embassies is attractive. MOE of course will have its sabbaticals and excursions and expeditions, but for long stretches away from our little island, the diplomatic corps seems to be the way to go. And with my French, there's an added advantage...however slim it may be. Yvonne says she'd rather study at NUS and avoid the PSC bond. Me...I don't know, working for the government doesn't seem like such a bad thing. It really doesn't infringe on my democratic ideals, and I think the PSC is really very reasonable given the perks that it offers. And with a civil servant already in my home, it really isn't anathema. Six years in the civil service doesn't necessarily equate six years of drudgery, though to be on the safe side it's better to make preparations for that eventuality too.
But it's always important to keep things in perspective. I shouldn't really be making such a big fuss about these technicalities, when other people are struggling just to make the mark. Really, I must say that us Humanities people are exceedingly well placed for PSC, so much so that our gripes with the bond and the course choices seem quite trite and self-centred. What, really, do we have to complain about? The government is practically throwing money at us, and I do think they deserve to be repaid. If you don't want to be repaid then don't take their money in the first place. You take your own responsibility for your choice. But of course, remember always that there are a vast majority out there who are looking at us with envy. It's important not to become conceited.
I don't know how people are so sure of what they want to do already. We were chatting with Rolly about this university thing, and he guessed that I'd be going to the US. As it turned out, most of the people there wanted to go to the UK. And to see the gleam of certainty in Jenn's and Ian's eyes is quite a novelty. Not a lot of people are already set on what they want to do. Me, I thought that I'd like to teach. That was my first ideal profession. But I guess that got superseded by writing, and the immersions really whetted my appetitie for the foreign. Teaching is still an option that I wouldn't turn down immediately, but the world is so big now, and the choices so many, and the stakes increasingly getting higher. How does one decide? Growing up is the process of learning how to cope with more and more responsibility.
Speaking of writing...my PC's going down the loo again. It's difficult for me to practice that kind of mental rigour and discipline to write a focused Lit essay. Econs and Hist don't have that kind of attention to detail, and their essays are more concerned with arguments and viewpoints. But Lit essays are mainly to do with the evidence that you pick out, rather than what you're actually arguing in favour of. I know how it works...you pick out bits of text, identify the literary devices used, infer the effects caused by the devices, and explain how these effects work to transmitting the artistic purpose of the piece. The trouble is that most of the time I get so carried away by one or another of these aspects (most of the time it's the artistic purpose, and I write philosophical essays where the piece is marginal) that the essay becomes fatally skewed. But once I'm done with the essay, I just feel relieved that that it's out of the way and have no impetus to edit it. Bleah...it takes a different kind of discipline of the mind to carry out this analytical process.
I'd very much rather evidence the process in my own artistic writing. Of course, it's all well and good that one can identify how and why acclaimed writers use certain devices in certain combinations, but to try to use them yourself, and to succeed, is another level entirely. Few people succeed enough to get published, but that's no reason to use only published writers as a benchmark for comparison. Daily, people come up with ingenious expressions all the time. I read Chern's and Mel's work the other day, and they really don't write badly. The thing is, of course, not to be conceited with the little ability that we do have, but at the same time to be brave enough to face up to our inadequacy and write on anyway. What writers need is the daring to sound bad, rather than the assurance that they sound good. Good quality writing displays skills worth lauding, but I do think that the courage (not egotism, mind you) to show your work to an audience and risk ridicule is more admirable, because to a certain extent it is harder to come by and nurture.
Which is why I'd rather write my own stuff than to write about other people's stuff. That does sound rather poutish I guess...like I'm trying to justify my lack of writing ability. But I don't know...who knows how much more interesting it would be if all the closet poets in our classes come out into the open?
That said, of course, writing is not just a fad. The bravado to sound wrong also implies the bravado to develop your own style. The main drawback about the Litwings' publication is that it has too much angsty stuff in it, I think. We have a preconception of what is a "good" poem, and modeling that on the work unanimously identified as good, we end up with a way to select poems that sound alike in tone and style. Of course, there're still unlimited variations in imagery and subject matter and nuances, but you try reading all those poems at one sitting, and you become numbed. It sounds like the same poem read out by different voices, in other words. We have to find a way to reduce that effect...we need to include different types of poem, rather than concentrating on the angsty free verse that is such a fad right now.
Hmph. That was quite a tirade. If anyone ever wanted to publish this blog like after I'm dead, I wonder if it'll make money. Maybe the Joycean non-linearity will gain it a following =P Anyway, looking forward to Friday. Sam Jo will be performing for Arts fac, and I'm determined to watch. Saw a glimpse of rehearsals today for some other fac, and it doesn't look promising. Heh, maybe there'll be a reenactment of last week, when Arts fac sweeps away with all the prizes worth winning...
Dramas
"If I could, then I would. I'd go wherever you will go." That song keeps cropping up at the most uncanny of moments. Subtract any romantic overtones and you'll get an adequate description of what I feel now. I wish I knew what was going on.
Anyway, the Fruits and Veggies Cult was hilarious! We met up on Thu night in HC to rehearse for the performance for HC's Dramafeste, and they introduced me to this new song that they wrote, Stargazer. It's a love ballad sort of thing, and it actually has a really pro tune and great lyrics. If we didn't mention the vegetable in the chorus, I think it could pass off as a boy band hit =P But then again therein lies our power...to look just like a normal serious band, but delivering the most inappropriate punchlines at the most inappropriate moments.
Then we went to KAP to stone for a bit (JY wanted to get dinner) before starting to write a new song. Now that we've tried love ballads and tearjerkers, we went for some sort of charismatic evangelical tract. My gosh, I have no idea where we get all this stuff from. Something happens when the gang's together, and decidedly bizarre stuff just pops out of nowhere =P It's really funny to see everyone toiling over the new song and throwing weird lyrics all over the place.
Then on Fri afternoon itself we went down to HC. The whole gang was due to perform...me, JY, Joel, Shoojee, Weiliang, Conan and this HC flotist called Hui Wen if I remember correctly. I still marvel at how much musical talent we have...these people don't write songs as much as they improvise with one another as they go along. And the spooky thing is that their random playings actually sound respectable together. The harmonisation and melody and whatnot just appears out of thin air, as if the King of Fruits were blessing us with the gift of Tongues =P There must be some underlying musical theory at work, but I don't understand it, so it looks like magic...
Hehheh, we even had a bit of stagecraft planned, with Weiliang doing...various things with vegetables and fruits. But for you guys who'll be at the RJ Dramafeste, telling you so much about it would be a spoiler, so you can just pay for the $6 ticket and come watch out for us on Friday at RJ =P But needless to say the songs went down quite well with the HC crowd. They were a bit slow with the more literary references, but you can't really go wrong with slapstick. And when they requested a birthday song, and Weiliang bestowed peas on the poor girl, it was just hilarious!
I'd never realised that making people laugh can be so fun. Hehheh, and the best part is that we get to sneak in a few laughs of our own too! After this you'll understand why the Arrogant Worms are so popular =P
This weekend was like the weekend of drama. On Thu afternoon before going for the rehearsal I dropped in on VJ to look for JY to watch Conan's TSD Group Piece. It was most breathtaking, the level of detail put into constructing the set around an airwell overlooking a little garden. The way they handled the audience was also innovative, by distributing them around the entry to the offstage zone. The advantage of doing the piece outdoors was that they had so much space to play with...they had two levels of acting space, and on the ground floor it was further divided into different zones. Trying to keep track of everything that was happening was quite a feat.
Their story was based on a Matrix-like plot, in which human scientists try to defeat the Machine by exposing test subjects to a simulated natural environment, in the hopes that contact with nature would reawaken their human-ness. Conan was acting as one of the test subjects. The piece was intriguing cos these subjects begin with no character whatsoever, and as they are exposed to the plants, a mirror, a typewriter and a pile of Lego, they begin to develop traits like egotism and curiosity and creativity, and it's most intriguing to see their personalities grow out of nothing. It's as much physical theatre as method-acting. And the sparseness of the speech of the test subjects made what they actually said more haunting. They almost exclusively conversed in terms of questions, the only exception being this girl who screamed.
Okay, so the idea isn't really original. But in terms of set design and physical theatre, it is quite impressive, considering all the practical limitations that they had to face. Conan is quite a capable actor, something that I never saw him as before. And once again, the daringness and professionalism of TSD is impressive. I hope they put up their piece for the public performance; more people should be allowed to see it!
Well, we didn't get to watch the HC Dramafeste because we were busy rehearsing (or laming around, depending on your point of view =P) but apparently the Arts play was really stellar. They got all the prizes except Best Script and Best Ensemble (whatever that is), which means that they had the best direction and acting and props and everything that the audience immediately appreciates. I would have liked to see what they put up. I hear that Bernie as a Priest was positively sacrilegious =P
Then on Sat went out with Liang See to watch Dangerous Liaisons. Bleah...there was a big mess with the tickets cos I accidentally bought one ticket too many. A communications failure. But anyway, it's quite obvious why the play is M18. There was so much sexual reference that the book is quite unrecognisable from the play. Or at least I never saw it as being that raunchy. Hmph...there was so much of it that it somehow seemed cheap, as if the director was just using all that sex for its shock appeal, as a marketing gimmick rather than as a tool to make some sort of artistic statement. Of course, that could be because we would regard what the citizens of the 18th century saw as pornographic as quite tame. But there was really too much sex...it was too distracting and too tasteless. And Singaporean audiences being what they are, if they weren't busy frantically fumbling around their pants for their ringing phone, they were busy giggling at the least sexual reference. And then the actors didn't have enough presence of mind to carry out some of the sex scenes and deliver their lines properly at the same time.
Nevertheless, I think the play got better as it went along and they dropped the sex for romance. Okay...not much of an improvement, but at least Singaporean theatre can do a decent job with it. They turned it into a contest between two women for the heart of one man, with the dominatrix exacting Jeux d'Enfants-esque sacrifices from her adoring suitor. I didn't see it that way originally, preferring to regard the whole power play as a test of wills. The best parts of the play were the beginning and the end. The beginning had swings all over the stage and couples on the swings in various sexual poses, and the swinging motion simulated most innovatively the movements of sex. And the play finished with quite an impressive display of stage combat, with snow drifting down the stage and candlelight and one character pushing over a playground slide. And when one of the characters was slain, he fell into a pool of red spotlight, and the snow falling on him was replaced with red flakes. The visual effect was stunning. And it gives me some ideas to try out on Grace's set this Thu.
Ah well...in the end, the play wasn't bad, really. Maybe it's just that I'm prejudiced against such explicitness. But I don't think it was worth nearly $40. The thrill factor and the novelty factor didn't really outweigh the drawbacks.
Heh, then yesterday night I watched Black Hawk Down on TV. Good show. Gripping storyline about normal soldiers trying to come to grips with the tactical blunders of higher ups. But it was epuic...took 3h to finish, and I didn't get much sleep last night. So I shall go off and make up for it now. Have a good night, guys =)
Blindness
My specs broke finally on Tuesday morning! And I am consigned to a world of muddy colours, like looking into an artist's palette. A raw unfinished world.
But it didn't break before we had our Alfian Saat talk about Controversial Politics. Heh, cleasrly he has been censored, because terrorism doesn't seem to fit in very well with Controversial Politics. Ah well, I guess we have to wait to build up to the real big guns. Anyway, he was talking about how terrorism has been badly defined, and there's an ingrown fallacious connection between terrorists and turbans, and how politicians use the war on terror as a means to sidestep true democracy and freedom. He showed us a playlet he wrote on the ISA (which, unfortunately for the ISD, actually translates as the Koranic word for Jesus).
(A commercial break - Simei just experienced some kind of power surge...the lights blinked, and Greg's computer spontaneously restarted. The funny thing is that my machine was unaffected. And now, looking out, not a single streetlamp is on, and the floodlit street soccer court is a well of blackness except where one emergency lamp is burning in an island of luminence. It is quite a sight to behind...the tai-chi-ers standing frozen in the shadow waiting for the lights to come back, and now they haven't come back, and they're milling away to retreat to the lit void decks. The coloured lanterns and lights festooning our little square are still lit, forming trails of colour in the blackness that has replaced the square. And all the other lights are on - just the big lights in the square and the streeetlamps have disappeared. And you realise, when you look out at the black ground and the towers of light with their foundations lost, how orange normal nights are. And of course, thanks to Singaporean efficiency, the blackness is fleeting.)
Anyhoos, I thought he took the Jesus link way too far. Maybe it's cos the term Jesus has so much connotation for me personally, but I found it really distracting. If his purpose was to discredit the rationale of the ISA, then equating it to religion which is sometimes used as the rationale for terrorism may not have been the best way. The Jesus link was powerful stuff, and I admire him for spotting it. But I think he didn't use it properly...exploited it for its shock effect without adequately exploring its implications.
And the thing that struck me most about his talk was how he established all thse fallacies, but then he couldn't provide what he thought was the right answer. So he told us what we knew already - and anyway, I really don't read "terrorist" as "Muslim" at all. He pointed out all that was wrong with the war on terror. He even pointed out how the term "war on terror" is wrong. But he didn't provide any viable alternatives to the ISA, or the war on terror. That, generally, is the problem with most of Singapore's opposition. They spend far too much time pointing out what everyone knows is not the best possible state of democracy on our fair island, but they neglect to suggest any workable alternatives to PAP governance. The question he didn't answer was between the two evils of the Ji and the ISA, which one was the lesser one?
Anyway...yeah, my specs broke at the bridge, so I couldn't see anything in school to do any work at all, and I evacuated to get home and grab a spare pair of glasses, which I'm using now. They're good enough for close range work, but trying to see distant objects now makes me dizzy because the degree is wrong, so I only wear them when I really need to. Heh, and I gotta admit that working without glasses is actually quite fun, all things considered.
There are of course the expected jokes about my temporary blindness...everyone's been holding up fingers to my face =P But I gotta say that everyone's been very nice and most helpful. For the most part there's no change, but it's nice to have everyone asking after my lack of specs. Heh I know it's egoistic, but at least they noticed, and one takes what one can get =P The most striking thing is the new philosophical outlook...now that I can't see everything clearly, I realise that I really see so few things clearly anyway. Walking becomes an exercise in imagination as I try to visualise what my path is actually like from memory. And the road becomes a bright smudge of colour, which is how I imagine that drug-induced hallucinations must look like.
The only bother is that I can't see people at all. Places and vehicles are still can, but faces are hopeless messes of shades and smiles. I've gone around school daoing a lot of people, I'm afraid. Hmm but at the same time, not being able to see anyone clearly also creates a feeling of independence, as if they won't be able to see me clearly either. I find myself sitting back for a more detached viewpoint, observing the blurness moving and hearing the sounds of life. Heh I imagine that part of this new philosophical viewpoint is also a result of On the Road.
One peaceful moment today...after lessons ended, sitting in 13A's room playing songs softly on my guitar sans specs and feeling my way through the chords and notes. The Ian smudge sitting on a table reading a book. The Shane smudge on headphones and doing homework. And the Chern and Mel supersmudge sitting on the windowsill against the great bright smudge of the afternoon sky murmuring something personal. And everything peaceful and quiet and picturesque and brilliant in colour and sound. It's not everyday that things resolve themselves to such peace. I am a quiet person by nature.
Anyway, been writing again...about Hariri, the slain Lemanese former prime minister, after seeing his funeral procession on BBC. It's amazing...so many people heaving against the coffin as it inched through the grief of crowd. There was so much emotion and so much humanity that the whole wailing mass could only sway softly, the despair crushing itself into serenity. Yeah...and that image sparked off another poem. And then, when I was blogsurfing, Alwaysbehindyou's diary had some really nice phrases. The truly luxurious experience of studying Lit in England has clearly done him good =P I hope he doesn't mind if I quote...
"but if i am to keep dreaming, i will always keep thinking of how i want things to be."
"I'll be loving you. Love, me." - I never knew it came with that comma. It makes a lot of difference.
"All in history we see people who implode."
I was trying to fit em into the poem but they just wouldn't go.
Hmph anyway, I'm about to submit Cabdriver again, all revamped and beat-generation-ised. On the Road is a numbing read, just like The Town and the City and Just Above My Head, the other beat works that I've read. Their style is intense, every expression like a blunt punch. Their simplicity belies the darkness and the upheavals they write about. It's most remarkable, and so good that I don't think I'm up to doing them for Lit S. Finding the perfect expression is remarkable enough, but expressing the perfect expression in terms that people can understand and identify with easily is a stroke of genius. Linguistic exactitude is essentially just frills if no one can figure out what you're trying to say.
Will Not Name This Entry Valentine
I'm really on a writing binge nowadays...just finished writing Cabdriver version 1.2, the edited version for the publication. The trouble with it was that it was too telly and they wanted it to be more showy, which I took to be to use more imagery and lyricism. And under the influence of Kerouac's On the Road, Cabdriver's second stanza was wholly rewritten in the drugged dizzying tone of the Beat generation. I was having lots of fun with new images (including the traditional and conventional light and dark image) and devices, but then I realised that the new stanza doesn't match the original point of the poem at all. It's hard to bring out the mutually dependent relationship between driver and passenger (the means and the reason to travel) clearly; I just get carried away with the images. In the end editing needed editing, and now I just hope the sudden shift in tone would be taken as a shift in gear in the journey that is the poem.
By the way, how much of writing is self-serving? If I didn't write out of ego, I wouldn't edit Cabdriver so extensively just to get it published. And though I write as freely as I can here, I always write for an audience. Even if you ostensibly don't write to please anyone (and that is quite dubious), you still derive pleasure from it yourself, and what writer would not derive pleasure from other people admiring your work? What writer would be brave enough to write solely for himself? In that way the approval of an adoring public can affect writing styles. Though there're probably other reasons why the poetry for the publication bear similar tracks by school. And empirically, they do bear similarities. Of course there are exceptions to the rule; but then again, what I see is a writing guideline.
But anyway, it's already week 7, and what am I still doing here writing? Indulging in my Bohemian fantasies of day upon day of writing about everything, and drama. We have so much to write, an infinity to write, and the whole night sky to drain of its ink.
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Had the first part of J1 auditions for RJGE SYF today. Heh, being nice to the J1s is quite hard when you're bored and tired and some of the J1s inconveniently do not follow instructions and harry you to change their audition slots at the last minute. But still there were good auditionees among the few that did turn up on time, or did turn up at all. A few have real ability; a few more have the right attitude and earnestness to learn and commit, but they don't have the skill. A pity really...if we had more time, these motivated novices would probably make better players than some of the J2s.
Some were pretty nervous...we were all trying our best to keep them calm, but being outnumbered by a panel of judges is always harrowing to a novice. But being on this side of the judging table, I find it quite hard not to be nice to them. How can some judges bring themselves into intimidating their auditionees to the point of tears? All those promises to be a nicer judge than the oral examiners of yesteryear were easily fulfilled; it takes a certain strength of character and a strong stomach to be a Simon Cowell.
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Eh, Valentine's today. Today was a nice slow start to week 7 because the first two periods didn't materialise for various reasons, PE was soccer, we had Hist with a trainee teacher, and there was no Math. The girls pulled their trick in Econs lec, which was really hilarious...Sowden didn't miss a beat with those pairs of underwear! Heh, and now that I've brought my fair share home, what am I to do with it? =P Hehheh, and I thought that only guys would think of such devious plots. But then again, the playing field has shifted beyond recognition; in CHS, if a guy bought underwear for a classmate, it was funny. Now, when a guy does the same thing, it takes on a tinge of vulgarity. Hmm...
Anyway, I think the best way to deal with today was really just to laugh it off. When you hear the self-defensive declarations of Singles Appreciating Day for the hundredth time, it just becomes bathetic. And to be sure, the sentimental side of me doesn't mind the sight of couples enjoying each other's company and gifts, when I'm not busy trying to avoid whole packs of girls who group together and are almost defiantly and noisily attached =P I swear, if some girls weren't so into the whole VDay thing, the whole industry would collapse.
But watching people is always a nice pasttime, and watching people today does yield some funny thoughts. Like all the variations of Duffy's Valentine that can be written on the gifts being passed around.
And I maintain that there is no need for any different attitude when facing attached people and singles. A bit of discretion, perhaps, but there's no need to make a big fuss out of it. I would have thought that by now people would have noticed that humans get attached and detached all the time. Most couples don't appreciate excessive public attention very much anyway.
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Went to have my eyes checked today...need a new pair of glasses cos the frame of the old one is falling apart. I've forgotten how fun it is to get an eye checkup...everything shifting in and out of focus, the high chair and the huge apparatus with the lenses that whirs in front of your face, the refraction machine, the little numbers and letters and coloured panels. Without your glasses, can you imagine that the letters are saying something secret to you? The blur look at the world very differently. And the optician with her soft voice and carefully calibrated equipment playing with light...your sight. Sitting on that throne, it feels exhilarating to have someone else decide how much you can and cannot see.
Lit Day
Fwah today has been a purely lit day. Spent the morning writing a story, then read On the Road all the way down to Orchard, then spent a whopping 4.5h vetting publication poetry at the Coffee Club in Wisma, and then wrote a second short story on the way back. And then there was a long email, and then this entry. If I have as much motivation for writing on my Hist exam days as I did today, I'd be overjoyed.
The first story was inspired by CNY visitings and musings about the convoluted troubles that developed from the Monday Incident nearly two weeks ago. My gosh, it's quite intriguing to think that one misplaced SMS and one passionate diary entry could spark off such troubles and tribulations. Anyway Valentine's Day is coming up, and like last year I wrote about something to match the general spirit of the age, except that this year I tried to stamp out the saccharine sentimentality. Incidentally, for a rather hilarious take on VDay, read Solitary Music's blog =P
The publication vetting thing was quite exhausting. Well, it was a nice surprise to discover JY and Joel and Risse were on the team too, and of course Dawn provides the basic guarantee of quality, but going through fifty poems in four and a half hours is murder. Heh some of the stuff was quite tricky, because we didn't define from the start the criteria for choosing the poetry, which meant that there were the usual philosophical disputes about whether poems needed central points or if stylistic flair was enough. The whole postmodernist-traditionalist shebang. And knowing some of the writers makes it even trickier, cos it takes lots of self-discipline to retain a measure of objectivity knowing that you could demolish someone's ego by being too harsh. And I find that by compensating, I end up overpenalising the people that I do know. How do you choose, then, if you can't separate the professional and the personal?
Speaking of being careful with the great power invested in the vetters...what happens when you're critical of the work of someone who's on the vetting team? I really took a sock at a scifi piece, forgetting that the writer was right opposite me. Bleah...politics was never a strong point. Good thing that he took it graciously enough, but feeling my heart drop out from my chest was most uncomfortable. Hmm...and hearing Jem Au's poem, and thinking that I know what it's about also made my heart dip. If you know the context, then the sentimentality becomes excusable, understandable. I should know; I write that kind of stuff all the time. Unfortunately, people are too often not interested in the context.
Hmm, but I notice that a lot of the writing has a certain common thread of tone running through them. The most popular poems tend to have obscure or convoluted imagery, intriguing and provocative because they are so strange and yet so precisely accurate, and they have a certain haughtiness or aloofness in tone. And most of them are in free verse...though they aren't very good, the rhyming poems stand out because of the rarity of their structure. Hmm...and I figured that it's actually quite easy to sound pro; you just have to slop images all over the place and disregard certain grammatical rules. The mark of a really good poem, however, is that all these smatterings of strange images are united towards some kind of artistic purpose. The problem is that it's so easy to make cheap imitations of the good stuff that the chaff sounds like the wheat on a superficial level, and after the fifteenth poem, you really don't pay attention to the details.
The final tally...unsurprisingly, HC got the lion's share of approvals, and RJ the least (partly because the original submissions were lukewarm too). There was plenty of angst and sappy romance (which I personally am biased against), but many passed through on their stylistic merit (though I think if a poem sounds nice, that doesn't mean it's a good poem). I was particularly impressed by Dawn's epic Surfacing however. The merged techniques of prose and poetry, and the expected ingenious obscure imagery and the good central theme make the three-page poem quite a pleasure to read. And reading it inspired today's second story, about writing. Heh...it's the result of me trying to be as stylistically flamboyant as the HC writers; you should try it too, and you'll learn to appreciate the rarity of the warped perspectives that are needed to discern those kinds of metaphors that are so popular among them.
Speaking of which...I do think that plagiarism is a large part of the artistic process. The three schools have distinct poetic styles. RJ's tend to be more realistic and frank, VJ talks a lot about love and darkness, and HC is the most stylistically brilliant with their crazy and brilliant images. The influential figures in each school sets the general opinion on poetic style, and everyone tends to write in that style in order to maximise the chances of their poetry being considered good. That's why, unfortunately, the best poems sound roughly the same in terms of stylistic flair. And when you can't think as colourfully as the greats, like me, you borrow their approach and their ideas and strive to be like them.
The greatest compliment that I expect from the vetters is that my work sounds like Dawns =P
But then again why is it that we can't appreciate other forms of style as much as the one that we're comfortable with? Maybe it's just me; I find myself recoiling from the love poetry (partly because of the Monday Incident) and HC's style is bewildering in its brilliance. But of course there will always be general personal biases. The thing is to guard against the HC style becoming a fad, for its effectiveness partly relies on its rarity. If everyone can pull off a convincing Dawn-esque epic then it would become as valuable as a flavour of the month.
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Arthur Miller passed away today. The passing of the greatest modern playwright of our time is fleetingly saddening, even to someone who has never read any of his stuff before. I wonder what he was like. The Crucible and Death of a Salesman brought him down to fame; did he let Marilyn Monroe get to his head? Unfortunately my minute of silence is only motivated by his reputation, and the fact that it is so difficult to become a great playwright, and not by actual acquaintance to the man or his works. Nevertheless from the documentaries of American drama, one can tell that he was a big influence, and his passing leaves a big howling vacuum.
Chinese New Year
Eh, it was faster than I expected. I didn't say all that I wanted to say, but what needed to be said got out at least. I still feel a bit angry that all this big mess happened at all. Angry at what, or whom, I'm still trying to work out. Needless to say, though, that we will not be able to stay at this stage. Whatever happens now, whether things look up of slide into oblivion, relies on what we do next.
* * * * *
The highlight of CNY eve was, of course, meeting up with the old class. Heh, RJ's CNY celebrations were wholly forgettable, mere gestures in the way of racial recognition. I don't know how many of the people there actually wanted to be there. All I remember of it was that Kats was fiddling with the knot on the big red banner from where we were sitting on the second level, Yiting on the other side, and all of us laughing together at the hapless people downstairs with the spluttering and misbehaving tech.
HC, on the other hand, had quite a happening thing going on with their street carnival. Throngs of people, lots of stalls and attendant hawkers, loud cheesy CNY music and the hot sun...these people definitely had the better party =P Saw Joel's junior class (including Izzy and this other RI guy who mistook me for one of his long lost compatriots on one of my crashes) selling fruits or something like that. Met lots of old iSpark people wandering around. The envoys from RJ joined the 4M people to head for the staff room, where we found only Mrs. Ng, Ms. Ong and the venerable Ms. Mok =P Mr. Liew was apparently sick due to overstress or something like that.
Eventually the 4N bunch all arrived...Sots, Kats, me, Liang See, JY, Shaun (okay, so he was from 4L), Joel, TLJ, YJ and Wenkai. It's not a bad turnout, but there was a twinge of jealousy at seeing almost the whole of 4M crowded around Ms. Gwee's table. Heh, those who were not in attendance were either overseas or at home. And with Mr. Liew leaving, Ms. Ong not planning to stay and the changes wrought by the HIP (what's with all the IP puns? VIP, RIP, HIP...), the only thing that will remain recognisable would be the school buildings like the clock tower itself. And when that happens, when all the people are gone or going, then my attachment to that old place will accordingly die out. I never had that elusive Huazhong spirit anyway.
Arh, we're getting old, us 4Ners. This will be our last CNY together with the teachers in the old school I expect. But yet, although what we have has to end soon, I am already surprised and warmed by how long 4N has lasted. I have to say that I didn't expect all these individual connections to last so long. Perhaps it is the JC life and its rigours that make us all pine for the old times in that old classroom. I know that nowadays I am caught up in nostalgia for the "good old days".
Heh, after that we went down to Cine to try to catch a movie. In traditional 4N style no one had planned what to do, and we ended up picking a movie that none of us had heard of, Shaolin vs. Evil Dead. We thought it would be a laugh to watch some cheap lame stuff. We came out afterwards stunned and traumatised by what we had gone through. It's not that the movie is really all that scary. Okay, it was scary, but only because it was so bleeping bad! My gosh...the movie had every cliche you could think of for a horror flick...zombies digging their way out of the ground with worms squirming in their open sores, two rival mystics and their respective disciples, a wholly superfluous and predictable love subplot between the only eligible couple in the show (excluding the evil dead), and a boss zombie that possesses the bad mystic and forces the good one to risk his life to save him (the good one was also perpetually shaking his head sagely at the bad deeds of his nemesis). Highlights: an exploding toilet, a boy giving birth to a boy as big as himself and tau huay used as a courtship gift. After it was done (the ending effectively nullified everything that happened before) we were laughing our heads off cos we couldn't believe we actually sat through all of it. You guys should try it...it's so bad that it's a spiritual experience in itself. You'll realise that the ranks of really trashy movies are as exclusive as the Oscar awardees' club.
Anyhoos, afterwards we wandered around for a bit more, recovering from the trauma and threatening to beat up JY cos everyone conveniently blamed him for getting us to watch it =P Hehheh, those playful tousles are never going to happen in 1A; if I tried to do anything like that I'd probably be expelled. Then the gathering broke off with those with change going for pool and lanning. Me, I followed Joel back to his place to pick up Kerouac's On the Road. Mused for a bit at his place over the dilemmas of JC sociodynamics; it was good to have someone to confide in, to have a guy to confide in, because some things are just more easily discussed with members of the same gender. Why is it that the arty-poet type female also happens to be the most intolerable? Plath-like girls are best admired from a distance I guess; the personal contact would be too disturbing. And anyway, anyone with that much angst and literary flair has an undeniable egocentric edge to her personality.
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Today was the usual CNY visiting round of the relatives on my father's side. Heh, the day started with me remarking to myself how contrived it is sometimes, to have to go around exchanging the requisite hongbaos, eating the expected tidbits and exchanging the usual pleasantries. Family reunion by pressure of tradition. As Hardy said, traditions are authenticated by the apathy of their practitioners towards what they are doing. And if there ever was a culture who placed paramount importance on appearances...
Hmm but luckily that cynical view didn't last too long. Now that we're all older, I find that the old camaraderie that the three oldest shared when we were all in primary school has been reestablished somewhat. I guess we've all settled into our lives for the time being; no one is just into a new school or just over a major exam. There are more common things to talk about with Ying Hua now.
And I wonder whether this is the basis for the gatherings every year for CNY. Because the adults definitely see something in it. And they all certainly have things in common to talk about all the time. Maybe when we get old enough to establish an adequately impressive constellation of commonality, we will appreciate the sentimental-nostalgic value of these traditions, with their reassuring familiarity that faithful yearly repreoduction generates. To take stock of one another's lives, to keep up appearances of familial cohesion, to keep score with one's relatives of one's achievements; perhaps there is something noble that drives all these pretensions. When we are young we can't stand these traditions because we know they don't matter; when we are older perhaps we will diligently perform them because we will know what does.
Anyway, family reunions are interesting times, chances to meet new people and complete strangers that your parents assert are blood relations. I discovered this long-lost aunt who's a journalist in the Orange County and back here for holidays. And apparently she's my senior too...she was in Purvis's class from the batch of '98 if I remember correctly. She'll pop down to school on Monday to try to catch the teachers =P And then there's this other uncle who was from RJ too, but now he's doing law. Both were from GEP. And there's this uncle who just returned from Taiwan where he's based. The big houses we visited today bear testament to the success of this Leong stock...with branches stretching to China, France and the US. It's a bit intimidating, really, to have so much success in the family, people who made it big and are all no longer here. But it's also surprising to find that other family members have already trodden my path. Eldest brothers will understand the relief at discovering that you don't have to forge entirely new roads through life to set an example for your siblings after all.
We ended off at Tanah Merah for dinner with the extended family on my mum's side. I think I didn't recognise half of the people there...only my cousins and closest aunts and uncles were familiar. It's once again quite spooky to discover that even within a "family", there can be strangers. But it was cool to chat with my cousin. She is definitely more streetsmart than I am, more world-wise. And faced with all these new circumstances, what with the Monday Incident and its reprecussions, it is great to be able to get the opinions and advice of an experienced veteran. And anyway, I got the impression that both of us needed to talk. Once again, primary-school bonds are renewed, and this support from an unexpected but close source is most welcome at this time.
So in the end, though it started off like Christmas-day, it ended on quite a high note. I think I prefer CNY to Christmastime. It feels like more people believe in it...
Friday Again
Mmm Sunday was fun, we had our reunion dinner over at my place, the whole of my father's side of the family. It's good to have everyone sitting around that huge round table with steaming good food stacked high; braised mushrooms, kampong chicken, prawn fritters, abalone, pork rib lotus soup (delicious!) and the mandatory steamed fish (excellent!). Heh though the teens can't really engage the adults in conversation (with so many of them at the table, we are intimidated into giving up our provisional status at being seated at the "adult table"), it's nice to hear the subdued speech buzzing around nevertheless. My family is quite a quiet one, I realise. Well, definitely quieter than Mel's to be sure =P
Marcus and Ying Xiang the younger cousin were wrapped up in their own devices crashing Beyblades on every available surface. The men read newspapers or watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The women played with the two youngest boys. And the three of us, me, Greg and Ying Hua? We were with the movie =P
You know, usually I don't notice any changes in my family, because how can you tell whether someone has grown from one year to the next? The imperceptibility of the change makes it seem like they're perpetually young. It was only yesterday that the full impact of the fact that my oldest cousin on my dad's side was already in Sec 2 sank in. Changes in dress style, physical changes due to puberty, and so on. And the fact that she's almost as tall as me already is quite hard to overlook =P Yes, us kids are growing up, and usually I would not notice it, but I'm in my last year of structured education.
* * * * *
Wrote another story...this one inspired, strangely enough, by washing the family car on Saturday night. The quiet work at the void deck with my mom, seeing the metal emerge from under the dust and the water turn increasingly black sparked something off inside me, and set me off on a Beat-generation style creative binge...writing about all sorts of things, anything that comes to mind, flitting from one issue to the other, with an attempt at keeping consistent to one unified theme. Hmm it sounds less sentimental than usual to me, probably because it was not based on a strong important memory. Detachment does allow one to assert more precision on the writing process to some extent, directing the writing impulse more stylishly.
* * * * *
So today was Friday again; it's only in some place like RJ that even the flow of time can be made to bow down to human decrees =P Instead of crashing HC again (since we'd be back tomorrow anyway), I ended up with Mel and Chern for lunch and then a binge of Valentine's Day shopping. Hehhehheh, guys, I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't be dissuaded from their diabolical plans. When they paid up, the shopkeeper looked at the unlikely sight of two girls with ten...ahem. It was hilarious =D And accordingly it should be quite eye-opening on Monday.
After that we wandered down to Orchard to visit Creative Hands art supply shop, Kino and Bang & Olufsen. Heh it felt so...bohemian, to be wandering around racks of paintbrushes, paper, paint, easels, sketching charcoal, stamps, ink and so forth. So much raw material for creative expression, and being with the likes of Thong and Mel (and even TSD), I can already see how these pastes and tools can be greatly value added in their hands. Then hunted for books in Kino...I couldn't find Winterson's Oranges, for some strange reason, and Kino has a pathetic section of drama. But I did buy Eternal Love by McEwan...hopefully it's at least as good as Atonement. We were reading snippets of poetry...Larkin is actually quite funny at times...his pessimism sometimes goes over to bathos. But I like Sharon Olds muchly...her poems are really intense and the craftsmanship is ingenious. She is a benchmark that I can work towards. Given the lack of dramas available anywhere, I'd have to ask the TSD pple for help, or I'd do Olds. And Chern brought us to B&O to grab one of their brochures, and I was quite stunned by their really cool designs. Whoever first thought of designer multimedia accessories was a genius.
Hmm...chatted a lot about VDay today, partly because the two of them had plans to make. But it does seem to be so much trouble...if you're attached then you're under mainly social pressure to do something special on that day. Though it is sweet, but it's also to some extent an obligation that everyone else puts on you if not one that is put on you by yourselves. Heh after the Monday Incident, I really don't want to get anything personal from anyone on Monday. Gifts for fun and from people who are confirmed not looking for an attachment are all right...I can handle jokes and goodwill =P But I don't want to be confronted by something else as serious as the Monday Incident so soon again.
You know, I realise that the Monday Incident has impacted me alot more than it should have. If there's a realistic possibility of whoever I'm talking to harbouring a secret affection for me, then I'm instinctively suspicious, which is in no way fair to them, I admit. Interestingly enough, I'm now most comfortable talking to people who are clearly playful, already confirmed not interested or who are already attached. But it shouldn't be this way...it's unfair that everyone who doesn't fall in this category has to pay for the upset caused by one other person. I shall try to be fair to them at least...but the experience is still too fresh, and I see parallels and possibilities paranoiacally all over the place.
* * * * *
Hehheh tomorrow's CNY Celebrations! I hear that they'd be dancing Raindance, which is good for joining in. And afterwards there'll be a reunion at CHS, when we crash and try to catch the teachers before they run off for their lunch. Looking forward to the meeting up of everyone. Though last week I did see all of them, the guys from RJ, HC and VJ, but I haven't seen all of them together for a long time. It should be a good reunion tomorrow.
* * * * *
Was thinking back to Texprog, and all the Taiwanese that we left behind. Seeing Shixian on Fri sparked it off, I guess. Arh, it would be great to have them over here for Chinese New Year, or to be over there over this festive season. They have hols now, bless them, they deserve it after their torturous school year. But I do miss them and their exuberant curiosity and vibrance and hospitality. Young and his family, especially. Hmm...but the one moment that sticks in my mind is that time at the airport, that one hug. Yes, Singaporeans don't know how to hug properly. We simultaneously put too many connotations and not enough emphasis on hugging. And there is quite a lot that we lost in that simple physical communication...
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Appended 20:11
Oh my gosh, it's happened again. Please, when you read this diary, do not assume straightaway that you know who or what I'm writing about. I've abandoned the policy of anonymity and the protection of all the characters that appear on my blog, but some things cannot be named, because the damage done would be too great. I name people because there is no harm done. But when I don't name people, that is because I can hurt them. And on the rare occasion when I don't name them, please don't readily put yourself in the shoes of my entry. Only I know who each entry fits.
I would chide you for your ego at assuming that I wrote about you, but it has clearly caused too much damage already. It was not about you. And yet, now that we've unwittingly arrived at this juncture, what can we do but continue as best we can? A part of me doesn't regret it, for at least we have been frank if anything. But understand that this was not intended.
Three Schools
Eh, it's been a great two days. Been to so many different schools that it's quite exhausting, really. I myself am quite surprised at how things have worked out. Heh, I didn't visit around so much when I was deciding which sec sch and JC to go to...
Went back to VJ on Thu to help out with Grace's set design thingy. Ah well, there wasn't much that I could do, really. Besides providing the genesis of the idea, I don't have the skill or the resources to actualise the idea; all that has to rely on the abilities of the team assigned to help Grace with her dramatic sequence (what a thing to call a play =P). So I appeared in the compound, found them painting this 11m long stretch of pink silk, and chipped in by helping to hold the cloth up so the artists could do their work. Heh, so much for the glamour of set design, eh? =P
The J1s assigned to help out are a really good bunch of people to work with! It's a real stroke of luck to have people who can actually paint on cloth with acrylic, and there was this girl who was an art student so she had access to all the paint and supplies, which was undeniably convenient. And while we were holding the cloth and they were painting, some of them were discussing Jap anime and songs...apparently Jap subculture is very popular among the TSD people...it's quite hilarious, really, and they're so enthusiastic about animes and their theme songs =P And other people were playing inane games like Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy, Open-Close, Black Magic...you know. And we finally ended up telling blonde jokes, and that green pingpong ball one =P
It's not every drama production that has such a blessing, with people who are so dedicated to working for the production and with such good humour and skill too. Of course, TSD being one of their examinable subjects, that could explain their commitment. But it really is wonderful, to have this team who is just as happy helping to hold the canvas as to pour out paint and wash brushes and run other little errands for the artists. With a team like that, I think we can get a heck of a lot of things done.
Oh, and that idea that I planted in Grace's group last week? The teachers threw it out =P So now they're doing a self-reflexive piece based on some story about searching for the story's author...I forget the title. It does sound interesting, and this idea has the advantage of being their own product. And that can be crucial...the people involved in the production must believe in what they're putting up, must take ownership of their production; that is the best way to assure that one puts in the utmost effort.
Went back to CHS today and talked to Ms. Ong at the busstop outside the school. Heh, a part of me feels older than her, really. How is it that people like Mr. Purvis are bogged down with experience, but Ms. Ong and Mr. Liew can find new reason for hope? Perhaps I think that given all their complaints, they're too happy to be true. Heh, and they do do some rather childlike things...Ah well, but I can't tell if they're like that all the time. At any rate, it's definitely more fun to chat with them as friends rather than teachers. In this kind of circumstance, no one owes anyone anything. It's interesting and satisfying to see that the teacher-student relationship can morph into something else rather than wither away to nothing. There's still a lot to be gained with them.
Then popped over to HC again to visit that class. Hmm...I wonder if they feel like I'm an invader, crashing so often now. Maybe they're getting bothered with me imposing myself on their class. Hmph...will have to continue to monitor the situation carefully. Anyway, caught the class mugging their Hist S teacher outside the classroom. Compared to our Hist S two hours later, the HC people certainly have spunk, though what is taught is essentially the same thing. But I think HC's students are clearly more impassioned with the subject, or at least they make their passion a lot more evident. In the long run I guess that could cause exhaustion, but with limited exposure, it warms up the discussion quite a bit. Unlike RJ Humans classes, these people have no qualms talking about anything with their teachers.
Anyway, saw YJ and Joel again. And everything's set for a reunion of sorts on Tue, which is CNY Eve. Heh...I must sound very repetitive, but I still feel that old warmth and familiarity with them, and practically all the other old 4N people. We did after all go through a lot together. That's why I really hope that the HC class doesn't begrudge my crashing, because I sincerely enjoy being in their company. And they were asking me to stay for their Lit Wing meeting with Alfian Saat. Hai...if only I didn't have Lit S at three, I would have loved to see what a real writers' meeting is like.
After S papers it was a dash down to TJ to join in their CNY carnival. Hehheh, compared to the lethargic but well-intentioned events organised by RJ's Council, the TJ event was practically Mardi Gras...carnival games, food and drinks, live performances and an auction made the setting most lively...or at least livelier than what I dare to expect from RJ. Not that RJ's style of celebration is bad...it gives lots more emphasis to personal interactions, but the element of large group activity in these non-RJ events have their own distinct allure. Heh, at one point one of the food stalls started selling platefuls of custard cream, and then it wasn't long before you could see faces full of cream chasing after cackling culprits =P Yes, things like this just don't happen in RJ.
Oh...today met three other people. Saw Denise from Texprog getting off a bus at the busstop outside CHS, which was a nice surprise. And then at TJ Shixian, also from Texprog, found me. And then on the bus back from TJ, I bumped into Chiat Ying from Pre U Sem sans her glasses, which was a really cool coincidence. Hehheh, it's good to see them still going strong. Though of course one doesn't expect anything cataclysmic to happen, it's nice to see reason corroborated by empirical observation. Anyway, it suddenly struck me that all those programmes last year has made me acquainted with lots of people from all over the place. And that can only be a good thing. Which is why the Rafflesian determination to sequester itself away in its elitist Bishan colony is so incomprehensible to me. It depletes a lot of variety, and cliched though it may be, you know what they say about variety and spicing up life.
But you see, knowing so many people from different walks of life is something really enriching. It opens up lots of new viewpoints and ideas, and opportunities to all sorts of experiences. And it gives me a visa (or a convenient excuse) to visit all these great schools (a part of me reasks the question of why I didn't take TSD and go to VJ)! And from superficial observation as an outsider (though I try my best not to make the differences too obvious...they just get in the way anyway), I have to remark to myself that RJ seems a lot colder than these other schools. There is a sort of vibrancy that comes from smaller, older campuses, and the simpler interactions of simpler people. These schools make us look really pretentious sometimes, with all our efforts to differentiate ourselves from them. And the danger is that we will become too different from them, and then something vital would have been lost. The name of Raffles would be alienated from everyone else, and how is that a good thing for anyone?
No, the way forward is to maintain as many personal level ties with people around you as possible, and to throw away the annoying and wholly unnecessary distinction between the students of the "top" JC and everyone else. I think it would be better for us if we didn't know we were the best. There is quite a case to be made for not being on the top...it lets people be more carefree, less paranoid. And it seems that everywhere else, life proceeds at a less elevated pace, and there are less pretensions. Why is it that people don't seem to care as much for appearances as we do?
Turandot
Nothing much to report today. New J1s were orientated to Guitar. Had a cool chat with Thong over lunch in RI. Realise that Thong and Chern are quite the duo for philosophical insights on life with almost polar opposite slants. RJC really makes its largeness felt wherever you go with soaring galleries and roofs. I thought Monday would cause a moratorium on all female relations, but that proved not only impossible but unnecessary. Thanks for listening.
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Been reviewing VJC's anthology submissions, and I have to say that some of the stuff really is brilliant. It's the first time that I've read a youth poem that makes the effort to make extra-textual references, and it is used to commendable effect. A short tribute, inspired while eathing a mandarin orange while watching BBC News weather. Isn't it intriguing how the entire continent of North America can fit into the space on my 13-inch TV?
Turandot
2 Feb '04
Not a flower that lasts forever
I give you a mandarin orange
Take it;
Its scent clings to your fingers
Its pimpled skin ruptures at your pressure
It lays itself naked to your consumption
Most of it is saccharine softness
The flesh parts, a circumromance
Its fragments speak mutely to you
It loves you; it loves you not
It is only the rind that we are interested in
The perfume of whole treefuls of skin
Under a rising sun that no one else will see
Sympathy is a trespass
On this orchard we usurped
On this wobbling colour of memory
You would throw away what we
Have learned to treasure
Your incomprehension makes what we
Have worth condescencion
Worth jealousy
We are secure as you look
Elsewhere; into our mutual innocent gift -
* * * * *
I shall take this opportunity to publish an entry in my journal from Texprog. Well, it's not really a journal...the sketchbook that I bought just turned out to accept words more readily than images. And we shall have a reunion soon in TJ. It's so cool how these things all work out! =)
Note that all Chinese words are translated to hanyupinyin and underlined. This entry is written in the Starbucks cafe on Tianmu street, which is kind of a neighbourhood commercial centre that was really close to where Young lived. Young and Noodles were allegedly studying, and they brought us, their buddies, along.
22 Nov '04
'a bean roasted sings a song of flavour' - on the wall of the Tian1mu3 Starbucks
Sitting in this oasis of the West in the middle of Tian1mu3, sipping a mocha woth Young and another exchange pair, allegedly accompanying the Taiwanese as they study for their common tests, but really talking about the differences between Taiwanese and Singaporean classes. Some things just don't change, the present surroundings notwithstanding...
The first day in Yang Ming was intriguing. Heh, me and Ying Shan were in the same class for the morning. We had three periods, San1 min2 zhu3 yi4 (equivalent to SS), math and history. All the lessons had uncanny echoes with Singapore lessons; the first one talked about colonialism (from the perspective of the locals), the second one talked about matrix determinants, as close as I could make it out, and the last one talked about Napoleon and the Vienna Convention. Hehheh, it's great to find myself upon familiar ground here =)
Their school is quite cozy...it's an old compound, throbbing with life. It has the same flavour and attraction as the old RJ. They have recycling and a lessons set aside for sleeping after lunch. The students were super inquisitive about Singapore. heh, I never thought that my ability to speak, but inability to read or write guo2 yu3 would be such a talking point =) They were quite surprised with the notion that our classes have Indians and Malays in them, and that Singapore girls don't make up for school, like the Taiwanese do. And when we started speaking English, it was like a circus freak show =)
Hehheh, but I do find their inquisitiveness very warm-hearted. It feels good to entertain people who are really interested in Singapore. It's in curcumstances like these when what makes it worth it to be Singaporean is brought out. And their raucousness and enthusiasm...yes, some things are familiar enough to generate an undeniable feeling of belonging.
So that was our first day in a Taiwan school. If we could just chat with Young's class all day, that would just rule =) After that, we played basketball for a bit, and the Taiwanese overran the Singaporeans (in a school with 13 half-courts, it's kind of inevitable, I guess), and two people got injured...two of the hosts. And after that, we had an Italian dinner (50Pizza) and took the bus back, and here we are.
Oh yar...yesterday. We went all the way to the end of one of their metro lines, to a seaside (rivermouth) settlement called Dan4shui3. It has a brilliant riverside boardwalk, with buskers and roadside artists liberally scattered among the crowd of families and foodstalls lining the streets. There's this old street (Lao3 Jie1) that was full of exotic never-before-seen foods...we tried a wasabe-spiced fishball, tie3 dan4 (kind of like century egg, but tastes like tea egg), fried durian (!!) and, of course, chou4 dou4 fu. Heh, that's something I'll only try once. The thing about that is that it really does not stink, until you take a bite. Then the paste they smother the tofu in exudes a foul taste in your mouth, and you've got to get it off the back of your teeth and breathe through your nose to prevent the smell from triggering your gag reflex =)
Then we took an exhilarating boat ride to Yu2 Ren2 Ma3 Tou2, on the way getting blasted by the wind and the surf, and I took some excellent shots of the sunset. We stoned for a bit at the pier, taking more photos. Heh...was telling YS that I felt poetic. But there was nothing at hand to express my lyricism...but I think the photos should say enough! It was most idyllic to be blown by a frigid wind, sitting among friends on a foreign pier watching a stunning sunset.
Hmm...more similar points I've come across here...their metro is actually called MRT, and their trains are exactly like ours, except that they have blue, not red, stripes, and the carriages are wider. They also use touch cards, called Easycards. Our street reminds me of Hong Kong. An avenue near school is reminiscent of Foch in Lyon. And the rays of the setting sun piercing the clouds at Danshui echo that lost sundown on that hill in Cublize...
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